Playing Favorites
by Cadence
Summary: Angela decides to help Peter. On her own terms. Spoilers to 3x02. Incest and implied sexual abuse.


**Title:** Playing Favorites**  
Spoilers:** 3x01, 3x02**  
Pairing:** Angela/Peter**  
Word count:** 1000**  
Warnings:** non explicit incest, implied sexual abuse**  
Author's note:** Just something I had to jot down quickly so that I could scrub this pairing out of my brain. And yes, I am going to hell because of this. Thanks to jinfenghuang for going to hell with me for a quick beta job. ;)**  
Disclaimer:** Heroes, and its associated characters and situations are the property of NBC Universal and Tim Kring. No profit is being made and no infringement is meant by their use.**  
Summary:** Angela decides to help Peter. On her own terms.

Angela found _him_ once more in her Peter's apartment, enmeshed in the tangled time web he was diligently constructing. There was the unpleasant echo of thwarted destiny in the design, so like the one Hiro Nakamura would have woven in the future that should have been. The lights were dimmed, as they nearly always were. Peter wasn't one for harshly illuminating every aspect of his life. He was too romantic, too soft.

No matter what trials he had been through.

She stepped into the web, standing behind him, close enough to see the tension in his neck despite the low light. He wasn't disguised, both a stupid move and one that saved her from further revulsion – seeing his dead eyes from her son's face set her teeth on edge in a way she could barely describe.

"You left the door unlocked. Careless of you," Angela accused without preamble, knife like tone thrown at him more from curiosity than from spite. _He_ was unsettling, unpredictable – much as she said otherwise. She needed to judge his reactions.

"I saw you coming," he replied, back to her as he studied the connections. "You're here to help me."

Angela's fingers tightened around the folio she carried, dark red nails into black leather.

"I'm here to stop you."

He turned, smirking at her, and her grip tightened further as she repressed the need to slap the expression from his face.

"By helping me."

"You've proven you can't be left unattended to fix this mess. I'm here to make sure you don't kill any more of my family."

"Something you'd rather do yourself?" he asked, ducking under one of the lines, the frown etched across his face twisting his scar to make him even uglier. Her beautiful boy. His fingers were light on the blue string as he tugged on the knot connecting it to a black string down an inch, butting it up against the intersection with white.

"Unleashing my _brother_," he spat the word out, reminding Angela that he secrets were not her own when he was around, "on the world doesn't seem particularly safe for Claire, or Nathan for that matter."

"I can only hold your hand so much, dear. Other problems must be solved, and I don't have any faith in you ability to do so. On the contrary, Gabriel has proven himself more than competent," she ignored his derisive snort, concluding with the admission, "in his aims if not mine."

"Do you want to hear what happened to you?" Peter asked, almost conversational as he changed course.

"Not particularly," she said, but she ducked under the lines to follow him, leaving the folio on a wooden chair. Loathe as she was to admit it, she needed him to agree to her plan, and in the family, they had a particular brand of persuasion. Even before coming she knew she would have to reach out to him, draw him in. But it was different now. There was a violence to it with this man, intriguing and frustrating both. Her Peter didn't resist, not her, not anything.

He had never been the master of his own destiny, let alone the creator of others. This man was unnatural, bending fate to his facile, ignorant will.

"It can't be important. I didn't dream it."

He looked at her slyly as he quipped, "My world is hardly what dreams are made of."

"Oh, shut _up_, Peter," she snapped, and immediately regretted it when she saw the snide, victorious light in his eyes. She'd said it before, called him by name. He had no right to think he was winning anything. Even if the tone was the same as the one she'd used a million times before. Even if she let an exasperated, indulgent note creep in, let the remnants of her close relationship with her youngest son who always felt and cared so deeply about what _she_ felt.

Angela narrowed her eyes at him. He thought he was being clever.

She stepped closer to him, ceding the ground of the admission of family rather than battling him. He should know better. Had he somehow forgotten that being family gave her more weapons, not fewer?

Maybe not, because he took her challenge, wrapping an arm around her waist and leaning down to kiss her on the cheek before sliding his cheek against hers, hot breath in her ear as he explained, "You were the worst of us. A collaborator. You saw what they did to me and Nathan and Claire, and then you helped them do it again – to us, to millions more."

"Which was _what_?" she hissed back, clutching his head, sharp nails going into his scalp as she kept him where he was.

He smiled against her ears.

"The usual. Murder, mutilation, torture, rape – to Nathan and Claire, I mean. You didn't really do anything to anyone else directly. That's what I was for. And as to the rest... well, let's just say," he drew back, and touched his forehead lightly against hers, the familiar gesture a cruel mockery, "I was still your favorite."

She looked into his dark, hard eyes and contemplated her next gambit. It was what he was pushing toward, she knew. He wanted it, thought he could wrap her up in guilt and seize control. Laughable, really. A day after shooting his brother to save the world he'd confessed and begged forgiveness. Toying with her, opening himself to those memories once more just as a power play? Please. He'd be lucky if he held his ground a minute.

Angela thought of her Peter, his idealism and heart and complete lack of common sense, and she let her eyes fill with fondness. She stroked a hand down _his_ jaw, and tilted up to meet him in a kiss.

He didn't startle, or pull away like he usually would, and instead pressed harder into the kiss, challenging her. Angela let a hand stray to his hip, sliding under his shirt, fingers delicate against cold skin where it disappeared under his jeans.

He gasped slightly against her then, trying to make the sound into one of pleasure instead of fear, but the shiver of muscles under her hand belied his facade.

His lips were still soft, she noted. All the hardness and power he brought with him, and he was as pliable as ever in her arms. She bit once, harshly, at his lips before pulling back to survey him.

There was quiet defeat in his every feature, his wrath and willfulness quietened.

Blood flowed unstaunched from his lip for a moment before it healed. Peter looked down.

Angela smiled.

She drew a white handkerchief from the pocket of her suit jacket, and wetted it on her tongue before dabbing lovingly at his face to wipe away the blood.

"There, there. There's no need to be jealous. You _are_ my favorite, even now. We'll fix everything. I know just what to do."


End file.
